Mollywobbles
by KatieBell70
Summary: What Arthur Weasley sees as he looks at his wife.


As he watches her bustling around the kitchen, her eyes darting around, keeping track of the tasks she wants to fulfill and the people that she loves, Arthur smiles.

He can still picture her the way she looked the first time he saw her. Such a tiny little thing, though he supposes that he was quite a bit smaller then, too. Even so, the wrinkled, tattered old hat practically dwarfed the little girl sitting under it, completely obscuring her bright red hair. He remembers the look of awe and disbelief on her face as the hat was removed from her head and she made her way to his table, where her brothers made room for her between them, each giving her a one-armed hug. He knows now that she had trouble believing the Hat saw any bravery in her. She sees herself as timid and nervous, but Arthur knows better. She is the strongest, bravest person he knows. She gives him strength when he can't seem to find it in himself.

He remembers a day where she proved unequivocally that the hat had been right, facing down two bullies nearly twice her size using only her wits and her wand. Arthur, his hand clutching his own wand, had grinned as he watched them cower before her, sensing the lioness within her.

He remembers the first time he saw her as a woman, and how terrifying and painfully exciting the revelation had been. He remembers how it felt to want to run to the breakfast table just to get a glimpse of her smile. He remembers how his heart would speed up when he passed her unexpectedly in the corridors, and how his mates teased him about his sappy, lopsided grin.

He remembers how it felt the first time he kissed her, how his hands shook and their noses bumped and his stomach went all wonky, and how the warmth of her laugh afterwards made everything all right.

He remembers how it felt to think he'd die if he couldn't touch her again—if he couldn't do more, _feel_ more than the last time, and how he would have bet every knut he had that she was feeling just as desperate as he was, though she was always the one to put a stop to things.

He remembers the first time he slipped into the warmth of her body—how it felt like he belonged there, how he never wanted to leave. He remembers her smile of reassurance when he spurted into her after only a few seconds, how she held him to her breast and lied, telling him it had been wonderful.

He remembers the pride he felt the first time she screamed in his arms, how the look of wonder and ecstasy on her face was the most beautiful thing he could ever imagine seeing.

He remembers how her eyes never wavered as she walked up the aisle toward him, radiant with love. He remembers the flowers in her hair and the timeworn lace of her gown, and how he wondered, as his heart constricted almost painfully, if he would ever prove himself worthy of her.

He remembers how he rushed home to see her every night, how in her arms, all of his daily frustration seemed to melt away, leaving him starting each day knowing that he could conquer the world, if he ever had a mind to.

He remembers her standing by a window, gloriously beautiful in the golden sunlight of the dawn, her breasts heavy and full and her belly swollen with his son. He felt tears in his eyes just looking at her, and counted himself the luckiest man on earth.

Her remembers the awe he felt watching her push each and every one of their children into the world. He remembers how one moment her face was hard and determined and almost intimidating in its strength and then it would completely transform—softening into tenderness and joyful tears as she fell irrevocably in love with each tiny, precious infant.

He remembers holding her as she wept for her brothers, how helpless and impotent he'd felt, and how he swore to himself to protect his growing family to the best of his ability.

He remembers meeting her eyes under a sky filled with fireworks while their daughter nestled against her breast. He saw the joy and relief on her face, mirroring the feelings of everyone around them. But he also saw pain as she remembered what she lost.

He saw the fear in her eyes when it became clear that the brief interlude of peace was ending. Not fear for herself, _never_ for herself—he knew she would gladly take on a whole pack of Death Eaters to protect her children but was terrified that she'd never get that chance. How could she live through losses like the last war now that there was so much more to be sacrificed?

He remembers catching her sobbing in an empty kitchen, an unopened package clutched against her breast. He remembers the guilt he felt, for indirectly causing her pain. He wondered how he'd ever forgive his son for making his mother cry.

He sometimes wondered if she wouldn't have been better off with another man, a stronger man—one who would have given her a more comfortable life. But she always laughed away his fears, telling him that she wouldn't change a thing. She would sit across from him at the supper table that groaned with the weight of the food upon it and was always just a little too small for the number of people around it.

The room itself seemed to be alive with the power of love and magic it contained. She would meet his eye and smile, and he could almost hear her counting her blessings in his head.

And now, as he watches her hold her first grandchild to her ample bosom, he can still picture the little girl, the young lady, the bride and the mother. He feels his heart swell with love, and he still counts himself the luckiest man on earth.

_A/N: Written for Jenn, who is a beautiful wife, mother and person_


End file.
